I'm Here to Kick A
by MEEC7
Summary: Feyre is one of the Prythian government's newest recruits and seems to be having a hard time. Courses are difficult, her superior is an ass and the assignments can be downright deadly, but she's Feyre Archeron. A hard time is what she's used to; at least this time round it involves attractive people, juicy state secrets and perhaps even love. A series of one shots, submit requests!
1. I'm Lucien and Stuck as Your Guide

**AN: This has been drifting in my head for a while and I'm not sure if someone has done something similar, so I'm giving it a shot. I also firmly believe that Lucien deserves more for what he's been through, so we'll see what can be done about that! (He's also my favourite and needs more love) I haven't finished all the books yet, but this begged to be written. If someone's OOC, let me know. Enjoy the show!**

The car pulled into a pristine gravel drive, the rock crunching under the tires. Feyre stared dispassionately out the window at the manicured grounds and manor, silently pondering who made the decision to house a private government training facility in Hogwarts. The manor was made of warm brown stone, had windows with pewter panes and small stone lions mounted on the walls; it was beautiful and very obviously old and very much not her style. Not that she was complaining. Almost anything was a step up from _there_ , and a beautiful manor with a lot of acreage would have very few people complaining. A voice in her head whispered exactly what colours she would use to capture the vibrancy of the grass on a canvas.

As soon as the car was stopped, Feyre stepped out and made her way to the trunk. The ride over with her driver had been completely silent and very awkward. All Feyre wanted to do was find some food, process what the hell had happened in the past few weeks, and sleep. She didn't care if the car door was slammed a little harder than necessary; she was hungry, tired, jetlagged and cranky, so slamming a door was a very forgivable thing.

Feyre had just been wrapping up her gap year and was settling her finances for school when the letter had arrived. It had been hand delivered by a beast of a man who claimed he worked for the government of Prythian, and he'd handed her the letter, suggested she read it, and said he'd come collect her three weeks from then. The end.

And so here she was, climbing out of a very attractive but unsociable stranger's car in front of a small castle while her family sat on a good chunk of the money she'd earned over her gap year and a fat check from the Prythian government.

Whoop di doo.

Just as she reached to open the trunk, her driver's golden hand slammed down on top of hers, stilling her movements.

"Er, excuse me? I'm trying to get my luggage." Feyre gave the man a firm glare before ripping her hand from beneath his.

The man looked down at her a moment before replying, his voice deep and apathetic. "The staff will leave your bags in your room. You need to take the tour." With one more glance he turned and walked away, leaving Feyre staring at his retreating back and completely alone.

The foyer was just as beautiful as the outside of the manor, if a bit old fashioned. A crystal chandelier scattered light across pale green wallpaper, and the space was furnished in honey-coloured wood. A few overstuffed armchairs were scattered around, and in one of them sat a man.

He was reading a book, cross-legged and bouncing the foot resting on his knee. Long bronze fingers tapped the cover in a short, repetitive pattern. A curtain of red hair concealed his face from Feyre's view, but if the rest of him were anything to go by, it would be sharp and attractive. His navy blazer, collared shirt and fitted trousers lent his careless lounging a calculated air.

"Is there something you want from me, or are you just going to keep staring?" asked the man without looking up from his book. Feyre blinked from her musings and flushed slightly at being caught.

"I was sent here for a tour…? If we can just get this over with that'd be great because I really need some sleep…" she trailed off, her irritated tone fading to nothing. He's looked up at her as she spoke, and now she really was staring, but not just because his face was attractive.

It was almost exactly as she'd assumed. He was made of sharp angles, all bronze cheekbones and ethereal symmetry. But what really had her staring were his eyes.

One was a warm russet brown and gazed coolly up at her. The other was a vibrant gold, the colour marking it obviously false, and seemed to stare through her soul. A vicious scar traveled down that side of his face, bisecting his eyebrow and the eye itself, until just above his jaw.

The red haired man noticed what her attention was fixated on, and his voice cooled. "Well then, Feyre, we can't afford for you to lose your beauty sleep." The barb in his words was not missed by her, and Feyre internally cringed.

He strode away without her, and she was left to jog after him.

Day 1 and already alienating the staff. Great.

The man introduced himself as Lucien, then launched straight into the tour.

"This division of the Prythian government deals with intelligence on an international scale. The building you are in now houses most of the facilities. The space is divided into several divisions, or courts, as we call them. We're in Spring, where you'll most likely be spending your time. This is where basic training takes place. Get used to it; I think you'll be here a while."

They turned a corner to continue the tour when a doubt niggled at the back of Feyre's mind. She stopped walking, and Lucien whirled around with an impatient huff.

"How do you know my name? I didn't introduced myself in the foyer yet you used my name." The question came out more as a demand, but that was no love lost between them.

Lucien only smirked at her, his golden eye unnervingly fixed on her face. "It's my job to know everyone that breathes within a mile of this place."

"Is that required of all the house staff or just you?" Feyre wasn't sure if this was curiosity speaking, or her strange urge to get on his nerves.

"It's not required of any of the house staff. Are you quite done with the questions? If you're literate, the handbook is on your side table. If you're not-" here the corner of his lips pulled up again, and Feyre ached to take him down a notch because he obviously knew of her dyslexia and was intentionally pushing her buttons.. "-you'll just have to shut up and listen."

Feyre never was fond of obeying people who pushed her around. "And if you're not house staff, why're you giving me the grand tour?"

Lucien scoffed. "Hell if I know." He looked pointedly at her cheap sweats and rumpled t-shirt before continuing down the hall, his movements graceful and serene. "But it's way below my pay grade."

"Are you always such an ass, or is it just to me?"

 _Oh, shit._ Feyre immediately froze. She had just blatantly insulted someone who dressed, moved and spoke like they were very important, but with a little thought realized that he fully deserved it. So Feyre straightened her spine and stared him down as Lucien turned to face her.

"Don't for one moment think you're special in anything." His words were delivered with a hidden bite to their honeyed tone, but the low chuckle that followed soothed the sting. Turning to face her his smirk was more of a smile, and something bright gleamed in his eyes. "I think I'm starting to like you."

The tour continued, with Lucien's continued taunts just slightly less acerbic. He took her through the Summer, Winter and Dawn courts, and Feyre's fingers itched for her cheap paints and brushes she'd left at home. Each court had its own colour scheme, and the doors which separated them were heavy wood and beautifully carved with motifs representing the court they would be entering. She wanted to paint all of it.

They'd stopped in front of the door to the Day court, Feyre's mind wandering and Lucien still talking about gods-know-what.

Suddenly there was the frantic shuffling of many people from the other side of the door, and a muffled 'excuse me, sorry, _move_!' leached through the heavy wood. The door was violently wrenched open and a woman sprinted through, colliding directly with Feyre. The box she was carrying toppled to the ground, and she was immediately on her knees picking things up and replacing them. Lucien followed suit, helping without a word.

"I'm so sorry, but I have to run-" Feyre's hands joined hers in picking up the various papers strewn across the hall, and the woman looked up.

Her dark hair was a mess, a halo of flyaways escaping from what was once a tidy bun. She had a pretty face, pale and smooth with well-defined features. Her chocolate-coloured eyes were a little more almond than round and tired, with tears brimming in them.

She and Lucien were speaking so quickly that Feyre really had to concentrate to follow.

"Rose, what are you doing here, aren't you on call? Where's the escort to let you through?" Lucien asked, concern colouring his voice.

"I went to assist in unloading the air evac and didn't really look at who it was until we were trying to stabilize him… they sent me out when they had him cleaned up enough to identify his face and know I was close with him. So here I am, collecting documents he needs to sign before he passes to keep myself occupied so I can get through the last few hours of my shift." She pulled a plastic key card from her pocket and tossed it to Lucien. "I nicked this from Tam to get in all the doors and I don't need it going out. Could you slip it back for me? I'll owe you one."

Feyre took a closer look at her and noted Rose was wearing blood smeared hospital scrubs. "You're covered in blood," she pointed out, and immediately berated herself for stating the obvious.

Rose gave a slightly strained smile and hastily stuck her hand out for Feyre to shake. "Hello, Feyre, I'm Dr. Rosalind, a trauma surgeon here. I've heard much about you. We'll have to chat later-"

"Oh, gods," choked Lucien. He sat back roughly on his heels, one hand fisted in his hair and the other clamped over his mouth. On the ground in front of him was a document with the name 'Andras' printed in bold. Rosalind gently removed the paper, the last one, and placed it in the box. She laid one small hand against his forearm, then leaned over and gently brushed her lips against his cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Lu." A breath in, a breath out, and a clinical mask settled over her pretty features. "Good luck with your tour." And with that she picked up the box and ran off, weaving through the people in the hall.

When she'd disappeared, Feyre turned to Lucien. The raw emotion she'd just witnessed was gone, replaced with a stiff composure. He rose and brushed off his trousers, motioning for her to get up. "Who's Andras?"

Lucien almost growled. "A dear friend of mine, and someone I've got to deal with Tamlin about." He whirled on his heel, his curtain of red hair fanning out behind him. "I'll take you to your room. In a few hours make your way to Tamlin's office and he should be available to discuss what you're actually here for." His words were tight and clipped, and Feyre decided that following him without provocation would probably be safest.

Feyre flopped on her bed, toeing off her shoes and sighing. She'd showered, changed and unpacked, not that she'd brought much. Just her clothes, some toiletries and her battered sketchbook. She picked up the coil-bound book and flipped it to one of the few blank pages, grabbed a pencil and started sketching some of the Spring motifs that detailed her room. It wasn't quite like painting, but it would have to do.

When the sun was beginning its downward arc, Feyre decided that enough time had passed. Exchanging her sketchbook for the map on her sidetable, she jammed her feet into her old converse and hesitantly made her way out the door. The halls were painted green with honey-coloured wood floors, just like every part of this court. The tapping of her soles made Feyre glance around, wondering why the halls were completely empty of people.

Following the map to Tamlin's office, Feyre passed a large dining hall with the sounds of clamouring people laughing, eating and talking spilling out into the hall. Through all the hustle and bustle, Feyre had forgotten that she was absolutely ravenous. But she didn't want her first impression on Tamlin to be one of tardiness, so all she afforded herself was one longing look at the caf before she trekked on.

Tamlin's office had no reception area, nor were there chairs in the hallway. Feyre was left leaning against the wall, admiring the pattern of the curling vines in the paper. Raised voices drifted through to the hallway, and a closer inspection revealed the heavy door had been left slightly ajar. Barely a thought was given to the sins of eavesdropping before her eye was pressed as close to the gap as possible.

Inside the office was Lucien and… her chauffeur? having a very heated discussion. Lucien was planted firmly in front of the other man, gesticulating as he spoke. His eyes flashed angrily, though none of this seemed to have any effect on the man other than to make him angry. The other man was absolutely massive. _Built like a brick shit house,_ thought Feyre. Feyre herself was tall, Lucien was taller, yet the man towered over the redhead.

"...you need to _stop this_. You're sending out your men, your _friends_ , to die senseless deaths that could have been avoided!" Lucien's voice was filled with fire, and his hands fisted at his sides. "Now Andras is dead, and that's on _you._ "

The man crossed his arms over his chest, and a dangerous aura thickened the air. "I had no choice, Lucien," he growled.

"Oh, _you_ _had a choice._ Just because hitting everything is the only order you seem capable of giving does not make it the only option available, and it most definitely is not the right one." The man stiffened, yet Lucien continued. "Other courts are noticing that Spring has one of the highest mission fatality rates. If you don't start rubbing your two brain cells together and make smarter choices, someone will do something about it and it won't be pretty-."

" _ENOUGH!"_ A resounding _CRACK_ split the air, and Feyre nearly banged her head against the door in shock. Lucien was staring at the floor, one hand pressed to his scarred cheek. A look of shock and fleeting remorse crossed the other man's face before being replaced by an indifferent mask. When Lucien looked up, a fire burned so bright in his remaining russet eye that Feyre almost took a step back.

"F*ck you, Tamlin," he ground out. Lucien removed his hand from his face, revealing a stark print on the bronze skin.

Tamlin ( _Tamlin?_ thought Feyre, _Tamlin was my driver?_ ) gave him a steady look. "Is that how you speak to your superiors?"

Lucien stiffly saluted him, mockery and scorn dripping from the gesture. "F*ck you, _sir._ " Then he spun on his heel and strode out the door, almost knocking her over.

"Next time Feyre," he called, half way down the hall, "don't drop your eaves so loudly. I could hear you breathe."

Feyre cautiously entered Tamlin's office, standing awkwardly in front of the large beech desk. There was a chair, but she sure as hell wasn't going to sit after what she'd just witnessed. To add to her unease, an impressive looking rack of firearms loomed on the wall behind the desk. She had no idea if any were loaded, and had no intention to stick around and find out.

"Feyre." Tamlin gestured for her to sit, but she just nodded at him and stayed standing.

"Hi." Tamlin frowned a little at the defiance, but no further confrontation was offered.

"This is going to take a while, so you might want to sit."

"No, I'm good, thanks."

A moment's pause, and Tamlin shoved a small pile of pamphlets and papers at her. "In there is your schedule, your course outlines, the rules and restrictions, staff list, and grounds map. Now, if you look at your course outlines-"

Feyre cleared her throat, glancing at the clock. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to leave. I'm meeting someone regarding my room in a few minutes." A lie. "I'll ask them to go through the details with me after the meeting." Hopefully not a lie.

Tamlin looked mildly surprised but didn't question her about the meeting. "What about your dyslexia?"

"I've learned to work through it." Not a lie. Mostly.

"Alright then." Feyre didn't need further dismissal to get the hell away from that man. She walked down the halls to the cafeteria, papers in hand and the sound of Tamlin hitting Lucien echoing in her ears.

The cafeteria food was surprisingly good, which Feyre was thankful for. 'Good' was relative though, she had a feeling almost anything would taste better than canned soup and pizza.

By now most of the long tables were empty, everyone having finished their meals and left. She'd caught the hot-food lady just before they started cleaning up dinner, and her plate was now heaped with steaming meats and vegetables.

Feyre looked around the near-empty dining hall, picked a table at random and began to make her way over to enjoy her meal in silence.

Her plans were disrupted when a chipper "Feyre!" beckoned her across the hall. Though this government training program may not have been her choice at all, Feyre decided that if she had to go through with it, she might as well make a friend or two.

Rosalind was halfway through her own plate of food when Feyre sat down across from her. "Hey," said Rose, smiling around her fork. "Did you get settled in?"

"If you mean by dumping my suitcase into a drawer, then yes, I settled in quite nicely."

Rosalind laughed. "Oh, Feyre. I see why Lucien likes you. He needs someone to snap back, so don't be shy. You can call me Rose if you'd like. Sorry for the rushed meeting earlier, I had to run."

"That's fine," said Feyre. There was a beat of awkward silence before Rose picked up the conversation again.

"Have you seen Lucien around? I was supposed to meet him here, but he never showed."

 _Yes, I saw him get beat by his boss not 10 minutes ago._ But that isn't something you say about someone you just met to someone you also just met, so Feyre settled with a simple, "He left Tamlin's office just as I went in about 10 minutes ago."

Rose nodded, and picked at the fruit on her plate. "Are those all your courses?" she asked, pointing at the pile of papers Feyre had on the bench beside her. Feyre blinked at the abrupt change in topic.

"Yeah, I left the office before I could go through them with Tamlin." Rose looked inquisitively at her but didn't pry. Feyre was grateful for that small mercy; Rose seemed like the kind of person who enjoyed having their fingers in all the pots. Feyre was not quite ready to be a pot.

"I can help you with that if you'd like." Without asking, Rose pushed away her half-untouched plate and moved to sit beside Feyre, scooping up all the papers and neatly arranging them on the table. She gave Feyre a once over, looking at her full plate. Feyre's stomach growled, making her blush lightly. Rose chuckled. "You eat, and I'll talk."

Rose began sorting through the papers. Feyre went straight for the roast beef and _oh gods, roast beef had no business tasting this good._

Between Rose's excited voice going through her schedule and the glorious food in front of her, Feyre decided that maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Rose was going through the activities available on the grounds when Lucien stormed in. His hair was curtained around his face, hiding the hand-print marring his skin. Wordlessly, he sat down on the bench across from them and started eating the remaining food on Rose's plate.

Rose paused in her dialogue at the clink of tableware. "You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago."

"Apologies," he said, not sounding apologetic at all. "I was caught up in something." He reached into his trouser pocket and tossed a crumpled sheet of paper onto the table before reaching behind him and slamming down a handgun.

Feyre jumped. "Whoa, why do you have a gun?"

Lucien pinned her with a flat stare. "I always have a gun." His hand disappeared into his blazer, and a moment later a throwing knife slid onto the table. "And a knife."

Rose uncrumpled the paper, laying it flat on the table for all to see. It was a colour print of Tamlin's face with the eyes and forehead shot out. Feyre whistled and Rose's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. "What'd he do to deserve this?"

Feyre could practically see the half-truth forming on his lips, so she answered instead. "Tamlin slapped him. Hard."

Rose's reaction was immediate. "Give me your face, Lucien."

Lucien turned to Feyre and hissed at her, "A little louder, please, they didn't quite hear you in China."

Rose bent down beside Lucien, one knee on the bench for balance. She tucked his hair behind his ear and tilted his face to the light, her lips thinning at the large bruise forming. Her fingers brushed gently at the edges, making the red haired man wince. "That feels amazing, Rose, please poke the bruise harder."

Rose hummed before straightening out and patting his other cheek. "I would, but I took an oath and you're not worth breaking it. Feyre, could you watch him for a moment? I'm just going to grab something." Rose walked briskly from the cafeteria, leaving the table's two occupants staring at each other.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," said Lucien. "I've learned my lesson long ago that it's easier to just listen to her when she gets like this than to face the consequences later."

"But she's so…" Feyre searched for the right word. "...tiny."

Lucien snorted in a very undignified manner. "Yeah, 5"3 and slim as a whip, but she's a force of nature. Makes her a damn good surgeon, and gives her a cool head during times of crisis."

Feyre nodded. "What's your job in all this? You and everyone else seem to know everything there is about me, but I know almost nothing at all and no one's offering any information. All I know about you is your name and that you're an ass."

Lucien smirked. "I'm an emissary and hostage negotiator, but my contract with Spring also makes me Tamlin's second."

Feyre couldn't help but be a little impressed, though she would sooner starve than show it to him. "How are you an emissary if the only thing that comes from your mouth is snark?"

"Oh Feyre, ye of little faith. I _do_ have a filter, but it's less amusing than riling people up. Mixing emotions and negotiations is a rookie mistake." Lucien grimaced and tapped his golden eye. "That's one lesson I will never forget, and one mistake I have yet to repeat."

Feyre's own eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

"How eloquent. There may be a politician in you after all."

At that moment Rose strode in, catching Feyre just before she delivered a scathing retort. "Oh, don't mind me," said Rose, setting down a first aid kit and immediately prodding Lucien's face. "I heard what he said. Tear into him."

"I don't think I need to, you doing your thing is making him flinch enough." As if cued, Rose's thumb brushed a particularly sensitive spot and Lucien drew away, hissing.

"Feyre, can you go through the kit and find me alcohol wipes and bruise cream?"

"Sure." Feyre snapped open the box and rifled through its contents, setting a couple of the wipes aside. The bruise cream was more difficult to find. _Gauze, surgical tape, shock blanket, staple gun…?_ "What the hell?" asked Feyre, waving the staple gun in the air.

"Surgical stapler for extreme emergencies. Please don't use that unless you've been trained." Rose looked up from inspecting the bruising beside Lucien's eye. "Actually, I'd rather you put that back in the box. Your waving around a staple gun is making me nervous." Feyre mumbled an apology, replacing the stapler and handing Rose the bruise cream.

Rose smeared the cream onto Lucien's face, ignoring his winces. "There's some bruising really close to your eye. Did you feel contact there?"

"Can't remember, my face was too busy being in pain."

"You're useless." Feyre watched their interaction, not bothering to hide her amusement. "In that case, you're going to have to take out your prosthetic. I need to check to see if the acrylic has made any lacerations on the tissue over the implant."

"Feyre, you might not want to watch this," said Lucien. He had ripped open one of the antiseptic wipes and was cleaning his hands. "I'm not sure if you're queasy, but it's not pretty." Feyre recognized his words as more than just looking out for her; it was also a dismissal, a plea for privacy.

"Yeah, I'm heading back to my room for a closer look at my course outlines. I think you're teaching my introductory firearms course."

Lucien groaned. "Then thank gods it's only two weeks." Feyre laughed, gathered her papers and began to walk away. When she was halfway across the cafeteria, Lucien called to her again. She turned, but his back was to her and his hair blocked what Rose was doing in front of him. "New recruits have the first few days off. Rose and I are going riding tomorrow morning, if you'd like to join us."

Feyre paused. Was the man who just asked her to ride horses the same one who'd been taunting her since her arrival?

He must have taken her hesitation for disinterest. Casually, he shrugged a shoulder and added, "If you don't know how to ride, we can teach you. I've been riding since I was a kid." Rose peeked over his head and gave her a wide smile and a thumbs up.

"Sounds good." Something warmed in Feyre's chest. Day 1 and two potential friends with an invitation to try something new? _Not bad_

 **AN: Now that the stage has been set, the real drama can start! Rose was meant to pop in, introduce Andras and pop out, but she kind of wrote herself. The oath she's referring to is the Hippocratic oath. I have a feeling she'll be back plenty with out favourite foxboy. Please submit requests of what you want to see, I'm willing to write pretty much anything! I'm off school right now, so updates won't be extraordinarily long in coming. Constructive criticism is welcomed!**


	2. Feyre Darling, Meet the Mafia

***AN: SOoooooooo the only excuse I have for not updating this sooner is that I forgot- I've been cross-posting on AO3, so they've got all the chapters. Thank you to my reviewer who gave me the reminder that this existed on fanfic. Good news for y'all; this means you've got about five chapters buffer! Yay! Anyways, I took some liberties with this chapter. Let me know if anyone is too OOC. Enjoy!**

"Feyre, you are a _fricking godess_."

Two weeks ago Feyre hadn't been aware this ball was happening. It was the annual gala held on midsummer's eve, an open invitation (and common knowledge) to anyone clearance level 3 and above. That had Feyre sighing in relief; she was only clearance level 2, and had feared that she'd been living under a rock when Mor had brought it up.

To convince Feyre to go, Mor had spilled the beans that Rhys was planning on inviting her, which had prompted a small explosive reaction. It ranged from "You're kidding me." to "What do I wear?!" to "Why hasn't _he_ asked me, then?"

The end result was Morrigan dragging Feyre from store to store for an entire afternoon after a three hour drive from the facility to the nearest city. Feyre had been ready to wear her pyjamas to the thing if it meant they could go home, but Mor had insisted on trying one more dress.

As Feyre looked at herself in the mirror, she had to thank Mor for her persistence. The dress looked really good . It was a gauzy, floor-length, v-necked affair, both elegant and sexy. The inner shift was made of a blue fabric so dark it was almost black, and was slit nearly to the top of one thigh. The outer layer was black chiffon, randomly shot through with metallic threads of silver and gold. The v-neck plunged to the waistline, where a fabric band cinched it together and the chiffon skirt began. Thin straps drew over the shoulders and crossed over the back, but other than that Feyre's back was bare.

Feyre's hair had been curled, piled and pinned to the back of her head, with a few strands left to frame her face. Mor had used some kind of miracle gel to hold it all in place, and her gold-brown hair shone while remaining soft. Her lips had been painted in a glossy nude shade, with winged eyeliner and a blend of gold and silver eye shadow finishing off the look.

Never had Feyre felt more glamorous.

Mor appeared over her shoulder, rearranging a few folds in Feyre's dress before humming satisfactorily. "There," she said, turning Feyre to face the body length mirror. "We just stepped off the cover of Vogue."

Feyre had to agree. "Mor, you get all the credit, and could be the cover yourself."

Mor's dress was a deep wine red, and it was cut to hug her every curve on its way from her shoulders to her knees. Her blonde hair was left down, flowing freely down her back. Lips painted to match her dress and a smokey eye on her lids, More was gorgeous. If Mor hadn't done such a good job on Feyre's own look, she'd have been jealous.

She was just slipping on a silver bracelet when there was a sharp knock at Mor's door. "That should be Rhys!" chirped the blonde, slipping on her shoes before running out of the bedroom.

Feyre stared herself down in the mirror, taking a deep breath for courage. She could hear Rhys and Mor complimenting each other in front of the door, which did nothing to calm her.

 _You can do this_ , she thought, _you've only been asked to a gala you shouldn't be at by the head of Night court. No biggie._

She exited the room, begging her heeled feet not to betray her. The two months of ribbing, flirting and sexual tension between her and Rhys would _not_ be ruined by Feyre stumbling.

Thankfully the gods smiled upon her. Stepping into the foyer of Mor's suite with no incident, she was greeted by the very welcome site of Rhysand in a dark, tailored suit and bow tie. Mor must have let slip the design of Feyre's dress, for Rhys had somehow found a black bow tie with subtle gold and silver accents. His shirt stretched across his chest in an enticing manner, and Feyre had to resist the urge to touch his hair.

Rhysand smiled, slow and just for her. He looked her up and down in an appreciative manner, and Feyre was torn between blushing at the heat pooling in her or basking in his violet gaze. "Hello, Feyre darling. You look ravishing."

Feyre smiled back. "You don't clean up too badly yourself, Rhys."

Mor huffed in mock annoyance, rolling her eyes and making her way out. "Could you two please stop having eye sex in my rooms so we can go to the gala?"

The gala was beautiful. It was outdoors in a secluded corner of the grounds, under the boughs of a giant oak tree. Lanterns had been artfully strung in the branches, casting the scene in a warm glow. A wooden dance floor had been laid down, a small ensemble playing music in a corner. The faint smell of citronella wafted on the breeze, and the flames in the tea candles littered across the small, high tables guttered. Several of the house staff wove through the guests, holding trays laden with hors d'oeuvres or flutes of champagne. Snatches of conversation and laughter drifted to her ears, but all Feyre could focus on was Rhys' hand splayed on the small of her back.

Cassian and Azriel were laughing between themselves near the trunk of the tree, and Mor began to make her way over. Feyre and Rhys followed, but were detained by someone wanting to gain favour with the head of Night.

Rhys brushed his thumb against her back in apology, and Feyre shivered. "Allow me to introduce my beautiful guest, Feyre." Rhys smiled at her, and Feyre held out her hand for the other man to shake.

"It's good to meet you," she said, and tried her hardest to listen to the small talk. Feyre nodded and smiled when required, but her eyes were drifting around the crowd. A moment later she spotted Lucien, a champagne flute dangling from his elegant fingers as he entertained a small crowd. His other hand gestured as he spoke, and a wave of laughter came from those gathered around him.

Feyre excused herself from the drab conversation, now turned to the rising price of oil, and walked across the grass. She could feel Rhys' eyes burning into her back, asking why she'd abandoned him to so dull a death, and she turned and smiled cheekily. Rhys only cocked an eyebrow at her before subtly waving her off. _Go have fun,_ said the wave. _You'll owe me later_ , said the brow.

Feyre could only guess what he'd want in payment for being abandoned, but she hoped it would involve significantly less clothing than she had on now.

Upon Feyre's approach, Lucien had also left his own little group. Lifting a glass flute off a passing tray, he met her in the middle and passed her the champagne.

"I don't know who picked this champagne," he said, downing the remainder of his own glass in one fluid motion, "but it is absolutely divine."

Feyre smiled. "Rhys chose it," she said, which was true, and she was hoping to incite a reaction.

Lucien looked almost lost for a moment before hastily depositing his empty flute on a passing tray. He straightened his already-straight tie, tipping his nose in the air. "Drinking in moderation at these things is always smart," he said, ignoring Feyre's snickering. "And the champagne was acceptable at best."

"Gods, you two drama queens need to get over yourselves," said Feyre, still laughing. "You should see Rhys when I say anything good about you around him."

"He's just jealous of my stunning good looks and award-winning personality."

"You wish. Anyways, I was hoping to find Rose with you. Do you know where she is?"

The redhead laid a hand over his heart, his brows furrowing. "Feyre, you wound me. No "It's good to see you, Lucien," or "you look stunning, Lucien," before asking for favours? I taught you better than that."

Feyre rolled her eyes at him. "You look great, and it's good to see you." Though the tone was sarcastic, the words themselves were true. Lucien was wearing a navy suit, tailored to fit his tall and wiry frame. A narrow black tie was knotted around his neck, and his hair was partially pulled back. He looked good in the warm light of the lanterns, with that sly smile on his face.

And it had been a while since the two friends had properly caught up. Ever since Feyre had been snapped up by the Night court to finish her training, she'd hardly seen Lucien or Rose. She didn't venture often into the medical bay, and she tried to avoid the Spring court whenever possible. Tamlin still pissed her off.

"And you look… presentable, for once. I almost didn't recognize you coming down the lawn." Ah, and _that's_ why she hadn't lost any sleep over not seeing him.

"You're still an ass."

Lucien chuckled before checking the time on his phone. "Rose is still working for a couple more hours. It's a shame tonight fell in her schedule." Just as he went to slip his phone into his pocket, it buzzed. He looked to Feyre, and she flicked a hand at him.

"Oh, go ahead," she said, taking a sip of champagne.

Looking at the screen, he smiled. "Speak of the devil and she shall appear."

"It's Rose?" At Lucien's nod of agreement, she bent over his phone. The glare and tiny text made it difficult to read, and after squinting for a few seconds Feyre just asked. "What's she saying?"

Lucien smirked, something heated sliding through his gaze. "It's a reminder to stay in my suit after the gala, and that she found the handcuffs."

Feyre choked on her champagne. "Oh gods," she said, "I did not need to know that." A second look at the bronze smirk still present and she continued, "Rose may be small, but she's full of energy. Are you sure you can keep up?"

Lucien did not deign to reply, instead flipping her off before stalking away.

Feyre laughed at his retreating form. She would go soothe his ego later. For now, she would gloat. Rhys would find the whole thing hilarious.

Feyre-1, Lucien-0

"So," said Mor, "on a bad night, this just ends with everyone returning to their rooms a little tipsy. You've got nothing to worry about Feyre, there's no rules list to follow here."

"And what happens on a good night?" Cassian choked on his drink, and Azriel started grinning. Mor smirked.

With a pointed look at Cassian, Mor casually said, "There was this one year where Cass snuck in vodka, got drunk off his ass and started an orgy in his rooms."

Feyre gaped at the tall man, making Cass self-consciously run a hand through his hair. "It a very satisfying experience." Azriel raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's not what you said while cleaning up the next morning."

"Hey! I'll remind you that you and Mor were both heavily involved."

Feyre snickered. "Well, they didn't start it." Everyone was laughing, Cassian trying to regain his dignity, when a sudden, strange hush rippled out from the centre of the gala.

"Oh, _shit_ ," breathed Cassian, and he herded them closer to the scene.

There on the edge of the dance floor stood Lucien, hackles raised and baring his teeth at an older, paler and shorter version of himself.

"Hello, Lucien," said the man. "Where's your new whore, little brother? I thought I'd say hello." Feyre winced internally. Every word from Lucien's brother was frigid, with the words 'little brother' spat like a curse.

Lucien stepped closer, drawing himself to his full height before snarling, "If you speak of her like that again, or touch a single hair on her head- Eris, so help me god _I will slit your fucking throat_." In that moment, with his hands fisted and fire in his eyes, Feyre fully believed he would.

Eris laughed, a cruel sound with no humour. "Just like you did our brother? Are you also going to carve out my mark and then burn my body, leaving just that scrap of flesh untouched for everyone to find?" Eris leaned in close. "I never took you for a violent one, boy. Then you used our trademark on my brother… Showing your true colours, hm?" The older man planted a hand on Lucien's chest and shoved, forcing the emissary to take a few steps back. "You may have renounced your title and you may have run, but that doesn't erase your roots. You can never 'stop' being mafia. It's a stain on your soul."

Feyre winced. That was a low blow, reminding Lucien of everything he had done to escape the inescapable shadow that would have consumed him. The Vanserra Mafia was the most feared crime syndicate on this side of Prythian. They had their fingers in drug dealing, arms dealing, money laundering, and almost every vice in the country. All of their family had a stylized 'V' tattooed in black just to the left of their hearts, meant to be worn as a badge of honour and a reminder of loyalty. Beron Vanserra was their Don, and it was said that Eris had inherited every drop of cruelty that his father possessed.

Lucien's hand was inching towards the pocket he kept a knife in, and Feyre stepped forward. She firmly grabbed him around the wrist, squeezing tightly to get his attention. "Don't let him get to you, Lucien." She glared at Eris, her grey-blue eyes meeting his cold amber ones. "You're better than him."

Eris smiled, but the expression only curdled something in Feyre's gut. "Oh, how quaint. Is this the youngest trainee of the Night court? We've heard of you, all the way back home."

"Leave her out of this, you slime-tongued little-"

Suddenly, a dark figure seemed to materialize beside Feyre, briefly resting a dark hand on her shoulder before setting it on the back of Lucien's neck. _Rhys_. His aura was dark and threatening, and Feyre drew on it to feed her courage. The Vanserras were not people you messed with and lived to tell the tale.

"Though I might change the wording, I must agree with Lucien. If you have grievances with members of the Night court, you can take them up with me." Rhys spoke with absolute authority, his tone cool but commanding. "Why are you here, Eris Vanserra?"

Eris held up his hands and dipped his head, his arrogance shining through the show of submission. "As absurd as this may sound, I'm here to strike a bargain."

The crowd murmured. Vanserras never bargained, it was always do-or-die. Lucien actually burst into laughter. Simultaneously, Feyre dug her nails into his wrist and Rhys tightened his grip on Lucien's neck. The redhead grit his teeth but swallowed the laugh.

"And what bargain may that be?" asked Rhys, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

"I give you the information, you clean up the mess. Sounds good, no?" Eris smiled tightly.

A beat passed before Rhys said, "Deal."

"What the hell, Rhys-" Lucien whispered harshly, but Feyre clenched her fingers tighter. She was sure she'd leave bruises.

"Good. We seal it in blood." Without further flare or fancy, Eris drew a switch blade and made a shallow cut along his palm.

Silently, Lucien shook off Feyre's wrist and handed his own throwing knife to Rhys, hilt first. If Rhys was going to be rash, Lucien thought he might as well throw his full support into the mix. The head of Night repeated the cut, and the two men firmly clasped hands.

"Feyre, you have to witness this," said Lucien. "Repeat after me."

The words came strongly and steadily out of her mouth, and she took the time to look both Rhys and Eris in the eyes. Repeating Lucien's softly spoken phrases, she said, "Eris Vanserra and Rhysand of the Night court, while under this oath you are honour bound to this agreement. You are each protected from the other until this oath is fulfilled. I do so witness this."

Eris withdrew his hand immediately after the words were said, wiping the blood on a golden handkerchief. Rhys just let his hand drop.

"Now that we both likely have an infection," he said, "what's the news?"

"Beron is working with Amarantha." Feyre quickly masked her alarm. The infamous Vanserra mafia allied with the biggest threat in the country? Not good. Lucien muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'you're snitching'.

Rhys merely blinked. "Why the warning? Surely you'd rather watch us all burn than tell us out of the goodness of your heart." He absently shook his hand, a drop of blood splattering onto the wooden dance floor below.

Eris' lips thinned. "Amarantha is trafficking people, which we all took a blood oath against. By allying himself with her, Beron is breaking that oath. I am merely balancing the scales and restoring our honour."

Rhys hummed in thought. "The more information you give us, the easier we can do what you asked." Rhys smiled lazily, the nonchalance in the action a blatant show of power. "Think of that as my bargain for you."

Eris nodded once in assent. "Before I go, I have one more score to settle. This is more official business."

Eris stared at Lucien, eyes narrowed. "I have a warning for you, little brother. It should be delivered by leaving your dead body in your whore's bed, but alas," Eris arrogantly waved his hand around, "We have company."

The older Vanserra drew his knife again, his blood still coating the blade. Eris put the point against Lucien's collarbone, and Feyre tensed. She felt Rhys' presence step closer, ready to intervene should the situation spin out of control.

Eris didn't draw blood, merely slicing down his shirt.

"You little shit, that was nice shirt," said Lucien, the clenching of his jaw the only visible sign of his fear. Feyre was impressed at how composed he was; Eris had a reputation for cruelty. Give the man a knife and add their family history, and Feyre was surprised Lucien could still taunt him. But then again, it was _Lucien_.

Eris merely smiled at him, not bothering to make a clean cut through the expensive fabric.

Still holding the knife, Eric opened Lucien's shirt, exposing his lean chest. There, an inch left of his heart, was the defining Vanserra tattoo. It was slightly different from the one Feyre had studied and learned to recognize. All the usual blank space in the motif of Lucien's tattoo was coloured a stark blue.

Eris hummed, tapping the blade against the inked skin. "The added colour is a little sloppy, but we did have to hold you down to do this."

"Eris, your favour is running out," warned Rhys. Eris didn't seem to hear.

"Remember, little brother." He placed his hand on Lucien's chest, palm directly over the tattoo. The older redhead leaned in, saying, "You may be a Vanserra, but you're _marked_."

Lucien's bronze skin paled but he held his ground, baring his teeth in a feral grin. "I know. After you murdered _her_ , I'm glad of it."

Turning to Rhys, Eris pocketing his knife. From the same pocket, he pulled out a necklace. Dangling from the leather cord was a metal 'V', enameled blue. Eris handed it to Rhys. "For harbouring a marked traitor."

Rhys looked at it dispassionately before shoving the necklace into his suit pocket. "Pretty trinket, but I'm not into mobsters. Thank you for the flattery, though." Rhys stepped forward, moving in front of Feyre's line of site. "Now get out of my party."

Eris started to turn away, but seemed to pause for a moment. "Feyre," he said, and she didn't like the way her name sounded from his lips. "Be careful who you keep close. I'd hate to see you in blue."

And with that, Eris left.

Those attending the gala began talking again, and it was like Feyre had stepped out of a bubble. Everything that had happened felt so isolated, and now, suddenly there existed other people.

Feyre felt a long-fingered hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Lucien. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his chest, where the tattoo was bare and bold against his skin. It was strangely beautiful, all curving lines and twisting patterns filled in blue. Lucien awkwardly fisted his shirt closed and held it in place. "Feyre… you didn't have to put yourself in danger for me. That was very brave of you, confronting Eris like that, but I don't want you getting hurt. If you had been hurt, I'm pretty sure Rhys would have taken my balls for collateral." The attempt at humour fell flat when Feyre merely glared at her friend.

The beginnings of annoyance bubbled in her throat. _How are men so thick-headed_ , she thought. "Don't tell me what to do."

Lucien, in a fashion very unlike himself, fumbled with his words. "Shit. Gods, I'm sorry. What I meant to say was… Feyre, thank you. I would have done something stupid-"

"As usual," coughed Rhys, winking at Feyre.

"-but you stepped in." Lucien affectionately squeezed her shoulder, then turned to Rhys. He stuck out hand, and after a moment Rhys smoothly gripped it. He arched a brow.

"Finally coming round to me, foxboy?" Rhys' other hand crept into his pocket, where the necklace seemed to be burning a hole through the fabric. The charm was cold and felt too heavy for its size. Rhys scraped the edge of his nail along the enamel and the metal's sharp edge bite into his finger.

"Hell no," said Lucien. His eyes, russet and gold, stared at the head of Night unblinkingly. "We're both dead men walking, and we'll probably be sharing a grave. Thought I should at least shake your hand once before our corpses spend eternity together."

 **AN:** **Az and Cass are so difficult to write, but they'll be popping up more often. I've got a chapter in the works where the inner circle features more; not sure where it falls in posting order though. I've always thought Lucien would be on the kinky side, so I couldn't resist! In regards to Vanserras and their deal with blue, its basically a mark as to who's on their hit list. Constructive criticism is welcomed, and please please request something you want as part of this AU! I'll write pretty much anything ;)**

 **Enjoy your day!**


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